


How Easy You Are to Knead

by PaigePenn



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Human Logan, Human Patton, Human Roman, Patton isn't allergic to cats in this au of an au, Recursive fanfic, Virgil eats some raw meat but he's fine bc he's a werewolf, Werewolf AU, blood and death of animals hunted for food, brief mention of other predators being interested in humans, werewolf virgil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-01-24 00:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21329569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaigePenn/pseuds/PaigePenn
Summary: A fanfic ofdelimeful'sHow Easy You are to Need. A recursive fanfic, if you will.Inspired bythisandthis.You can also read this ontumblranddeviantArt
Comments: 22
Kudos: 136





	1. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman and Virgil go hunting together.

The next few months were… better, now that Virgil knew the humans weren’t in fact going to kill him and take his pelt. In fact, without that misunderstanding clouding his judgment, he strongly suspected that they were attempting to induct him into their strange little pack.

He stayed on the couch. Though Roman had offered to build him a bed of his own, Virgil still felt somewhat unsure of his place in the pack, and he declined. What he told them was that it brought him peace of mind to know that nothing could come through their door while they slept without him knowing. It _was_ true, just not the whole truth. And by the time that he was sure enough that he had indeed become part of his humans’ pack, Virgil was used to sleeping on the couch.

On his second full moon with them, Virgil allowed himself to shift when he first felt the urge, and was spared the pain of holding it back. Patton insisted on sleeping beside him again each wolfy night, and the others joined them on the night of the full moon proper. It was good, Virgil thought, closing his eyes and feeling his humans’ hands resting on his fur, to be part of a pack.

When the moon was half full and Virgil felt equally comfortable in either skin, Roman asked him if he’d like to accompany him on a hunt, eagerly explaining that he’d seen wild turkey in Virgil’s woods.

They left before sunrise, slipping quietly out of the house while the others were still asleep.

This was different than all the times Virgil had accompanied Roman on hunts before. Then, he had stayed out of the human’s sight, following him protectively, and secretly, at a distance. Now, Roman knew he was there, and while Virgil still kept an alert eye out for any threats to his human, he did so from beside him, and in human form.

It wasn’t long before they spotted a flock of turkey. They were eating small green things that had begun to grow up through the thin layer of snow still remaining, and they didn’t seem to have noticed the hunters yet. Still at a distance, so as not to spook the birds, Roman strung his bow. Virgil shifted into wolf form, dropping to all fours and wincing at the somewhat uncomfortable sensation of skin, muscle, and bones rearranging themselves. When he had caught his breath again, Virgil looked over at Roman. The human nodded, putting an arrow to the string and raising his bow. Virgil crouched, eyes on the birds again.

Roman’s first shot struck true, and the rest of the turkeys scattered in a panic. While Roman nocked another arrow, Virgil leapt forward, chasing after a startled bird. He made sure to keep to the right, while Roman fired arrows to the left, so as to not risk accidentally getting hit.

When the snow and feathers settled, they had the larger half of a baker’s dozen birds. Three had Roman’s arrows sticking out of them, and the other four’s throats had been ripped out by Virgil’s teeth or claws. If he had been hunting alone, as he was used to, Virgil would have ripped into the fallen prey right then, but he knew that wasn’t how Roman did it.

“Good work,” Roman congratulated proudly, lowering his bow. He crossed to where Virgil stood licking blood off his muzzle and patted his shoulder. “We should do this again sometime.” Virgil grinned a wolfy grin at him, and Roman added, unstringing his bow, “Would you mind gathering them together?” 

As Virgil dragged the carcasses into a pile, Roman took a waxed cloth from his pack and spread it on an unbloodied portion of ground. Then he began to systematically field dress the first turkey, plucking it, draining it of blood, and removing its entrails. At that point, Roman hesitated. “Do you want these?” he asked, holding up a handful of innards.

Virgil nodded. He liked the taste of heart and liver.

Roman tossed him the entrails, and Virgil pounced on the bloody meat, devouring it with a few snaps of his jaw. Roman put the field-dressed turkey on the wax cloth and they repeated this for the remaining six turkeys. By the time Roman had finished, it was early afternoon. The human used a handful of snow to clean the blood off his knife and his hands, whereas Virgil simply licked the remaining blood off his muzzle. Next, Roman folded and laced the wax cloth so that the turkeys were securely contained within, and lifted the strap to his shoulder. “Alright, let’s go home.”

Virgil shifted. He needed to be able to speak in a way that Roman could understand. “That still leaves a scent trail, you know.”

“What?”

“Your…” Virgil gestured at the bundle. “That. Dragging a carcass. Your cloth thing muffles it, but you can still smell the blood on the ground. Or, I can, anyway. Could lead a predator right to your doorstep.”

Roman looked at the bundle again. “Do… you have a better idea?” he asked slowly.

Virgil shrugged. “I bet I could carry it,” he said.

Roman looked startled. “This is easily over a hundred pounds!”

“So?”

Roman was stunned into silence. Finally, he said, “Okay,” dropped the strap, and stepped away from the bundle.

“You’re gonna have to help me get it on my back,” Virgil warned before shifting again. He lay down next to the bundle to make it easier, and Roman, with a not inconsiderable amount of effort, hoisted it up onto Virgil’s back. Virgil stood, and the turkeys immediately fell off again on the other side.

They both stared at the fallen bundle for several seconds. Then Roman said, “What if we did it cross-wise instead of lengthwise?”

Virgil lay down again, and Roman once more heaved the bundle of turkeys onto his back, this time lying across his shoulders. When Virgil stood, they stayed in place, and Roman grinned.

“Alright!” He took a step toward home, then hesitated. “I think I’m going to stabilize it on the way back, just in case.” Roman put a hand on the bundle to hold it steady, and they started for home together.

Virgil didn’t like how the added weight made his forepaws sink a bit more deeply into the snow and what portions of the ground were soft, but he didn’t complain. This was still better than leaving a trail of blood-scent on the ground for any opportunistic predator to follow right to his pack’s home. Not that such a thing had happened yet, in the months his humans had lived there (the bear hadn’t been attracted, merely wandering through, he was sure), but he didn’t want this time to be the first.

Back at the house, they went not to the cabin, but to the hunter’s shed next to it. There, Roman helped Virgil to dump the bundle more or less gracelessly onto the workbench by the window, opened it up, and hung all but one of the turkeys up on hooks.

“I’ll be a while,” Roman said, holding out the last turkey toward Virgil. “Would you take this to the kitchen, please? Patton wanted to cook it for dinner.”

Virgil shifted again, taking the bird. He had a feeling Patton wouldn’t be too eager to accept a turkey carried in a wolf’s mouth, even if that wolf was Virgil. Careful not to let it drip on the floor, Virgil carried the turkey inside. Their other two packmates were in the living room, and as Virgil opened the door, Patton got up. Virgil lifted the carcass proudly. “I killed this for you,” he said. It had claw marks, not an arrow wound, so he was sure of this.

Patton grinned. “Good job,” he praised. “Would you help me get it in the pot?”

Virgil nodded, following Patton into the kitchen. There was already a large black pot out, and after a quick glance at Patton to confirm that this was the right pot, Virgil put the turkey inside. He stepped back to let Patton do whatever he was going to do with it, absently licking his fingers.

Patton looked startled. “Don’t you want to wash your hands instead?”

Virgil shook his head. He was a shifter, after all. He could handle raw meat.

“Well, okay,” Patton said hesitantly. “But wash them before you touch anything else, please?”

“Fine.”

Patton smiled again, moving the pot over to the stove and lighting it. “Have you had cooked turkey before?” he asked.

Virgil thought. “Have you fed me turkey yet?”

“No…”

“Then no.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat.” Patton filled a mixing bowl with water and poured it over the turkey. “It’s pretty good.” He put a lid on the pot and grinned again. “Simple, too. Pretty much just gotta let it sit for a few hours.”

Virgil nodded.

“Did you have lunch?” Patton asked suddenly.

“No,” Virgil admitted. He and Roman had eaten a quick breakfast before they set out, and Roman had shared some jerky with him on their way to where they’d found their prey, and of course he’d had the entrails of seven turkeys, but he hadn’t quite had lunch.

Patton frowned. “Can’t have that,” he said. “Wash up, and I’ll make you something. What are you hungry for?”

Virgil tried to protest, but somehow he ended up on his couch again with a blanket wrapped comfortably around his shoulders, a venison sandwich in one hand, and a warm mug of spiced cider in the other. It was delicious.

After he had supped, Virgil fell asleep, and didn’t wake again for several hours. When he did awaken, a delightful scent met his nostrils, and he quickly sat up.

“Good timing,” Logan commented, and Virgil looked around for him. Ah, there he was, in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. “I was about to wake you for dinner.”

So that was what the smell was. Sure enough, a moment later, Patton and Roman came into the living room as well, each carrying two plates. Patton handed his second plate to Logan, while Roman handed his to Virgil.

There was a pile of turkey meat, some of it light and some of it dark, and next to that was a mound of a fluffy whitish stuff, with a depression that had been filled with a thick brown liquid. It all smelled wonderful.

Roman held out a fork to him, and Virgil took it. The others settled on the furniture around him, and all began to eat. Virgil ate several pieces of meat first. It was different than raw turkey, and he found that he liked it. Next he thought he’d try the white stuff, but first he watched the others to see how they were eating it. Roman had mixed it with the brown liquid, while Patton was taking bites from the depression where the liquid was, and Logan took some from the outside and dipped it into the liquid. So, it seemed, there was no one right way to do it. Virgil decided to try Patton’s method. With his fork, he scooped up a small portion that had been touching the liquid, and put it in his mouth. It was… strange. But good. It tasted like turkey too, somehow. The texture reminded him of yam, but it wasn’t sweet like yam, or orange, so he was confused.

“What is this?” Virgil asked. Everyone looked at him, and he indicated the strange food with his fork.

“Mashed potatoes and gravy?” Logan said.

Patton looked worried. “Do you not like it?” he asked.

Virgil considered the dish again, then took another bite. “I like it,” he decided. “It tastes like turkey.”

Patton relaxed, smiling. “It’s turkey gravy,” he explained.

Virgil ended up eating everything on his plate, and when offered seconds, ate that too. It was very good.

“I like cooked turkey,” he told Patton after the meal. Roman had gone to bed already, tired from hunting and cleaning their game, and Logan was currently washing the dishes, so it was just the two of them in the living room at the moment.

“Good,” Patton said. “Tomorrow, do you want to help me make a new meal out of the leftovers?”

Virgil thought about it. He hadn’t done a lot of cooking before. But he _would_ like to spend time with Patton. “Yes.”


	2. Quality Time Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil and Patton cook together.

They didn’t start on the meal until late afternoon. “Would you rather do a lot of stirring, or chop stuff up?” Patton asked, gathering the things they needed.

“Chop what up?” Virgil asked back, following him around.

“Turkey.” Patton had stored the leftover turkey meat in a cold underground space outside, not unlike a cellar but not attached to the house, to help preserve it without having to smoke, salt, and dry it like Roman was doing with the rest of the turkeys. Now he set the stone container on the counter next to a cutting board and a knife. “It’s cold, but more interesting than stirring. We can trade off in the middle, though, so if you change your mind we can swap whenever.”

“I’ll cut the turkey up,” Virgil decided. “How big do you need the pieces?”

Patton demonstrated for him, and Virgil set to cutting up the rest of the turkey. Patton, meanwhile, lit the stove, set a pot on top, and made a mix of oil, a bit of flour, and a large jar of cloudy brown liquid, stirring it all together with a long wooden spoon.

“What are you making?”

“Gravy,” Patton answered cheerfully. 

“Like we had last night?”

“Yep! Except instead of putting it on potatoes, we’re making Turkey a la King!”

Virgil didn’t know what that was. “Okay.” While he cut up the rest of the meat, Patton continued to stir the gravy, and finally Virgil asked, “Isn’t it combined enough yet?”

Patton turned to him with a small sound of surprise, then explained, “Oh, this isn’t to combine it. It needs to thicken, and I’m stirring it to keep it moving so the bottom doesn’t burn.”

“Oh.” Virgil turned back to his work, finishing in silence. “I cut it all up,” he announced.

“Good work,” Patton praised, and Virgil smiled. “Do you want to work on the biscuits next? That’s what we’re going to pour the gravy over.”

“I don’t know how to make biscuits,” Virgil answered, but Patton was undaunted. 

“That’s okay; I do!” he said. “You’ll need to get a mixing bowl out. They’re in that cabinet over there.”

So, with Patton directing him, Virgil mixed together a biscuit dough. It was a somewhat messy process, and he got flour on himself, the counter, and the floor, but Virgil enjoyed himself nonetheless.

“Is it supposed to look like this?” Virgil asked, bringing the bowl over to where Patton still stood, stirring the gravy.

“Yep!” Patton grinned brightly at him. “Now you just gotta shape the biscuits and put them on the baking tray. Trays are in that cabinet—” again he pointed “—and there’s two ways to shape ‘em. You can either roll the dough out and cut it with the rim of a glass or a knife, or shape them by hand.”

“What shape are they supposed to be?” Virgil asked, getting the baking tray out.

Patton shrugged. “Depends. If you cut it with a cup, they’ll be circles. If you use a knife, they can be anything, but we usually do squares, diamonds, or triangles, cause they’re easiest. I did do hexagons once, which was fun, but that was tricky.”

“And if I shape them by hand?”

Patton grinned again. “Then whatever you feel like. But roughly circular is easiest, cause you just have to make a ball and squish it flat.”

Virgil decided to do that one. “How big?”

“Do you want me to show you?” Patton offered, and Virgil immediately nodded. “Okay, just take over the stirring for me for a moment, please?”

Virgil came over, and Patton handed him the handle of the spoon. Virgil did his best to imitate the way Patton had been moving it in the pot earlier, and it must have been close enough, because Patton didn’t correct his style. Instead, he went over to where Virgil had been working.

Before Patton touched the dough, he grabbed a handful of flour out of the flour jar and sprinkled it across the baking tray. “So it doesn’t stick,” he explained. Then he took a portion of dough, rolled it in his hands, squished it between them, and showed the result to Virgil. “Ta-da! A biscuit.” Virgil nodded, and Patton put the biscuit on the tray and took the spoon back. “Go ahead.”

Virgil’s first attempt was too small, but his second try was much better. He continued to form the biscuits, putting them on the tray, until he ran out of dough. The tray was only about half full, though.

“Oh,” said Patton. “You’ll want to space them out a bit more. Try to spread them evenly across the whole tray.”

Thankfully, the biscuits didn’t stick to the tray and were not hard to move. Soon Virgil had them rearranged. 

“Good job,” Patton praised again. “Okay, now they go in the oven.” Virgil looked at it hesitantly, and Patton added, “I can put them in if you want.”

Virgil nodded, coming to take the spoon again. Patton picked up the tray of biscuits, opened the oven, and slid them in among the flames.

While Patton was doing that, Virgil noticed that it was harder to stir the gravy than it had been. “I think it thickened,” he said. 

Patton looked. “So it did!” Leaving Virgil stirring, he went to the pile of chopped turkey and brought it over. Careful not to spill, he added the meat to the gravy. After he’d set the cutting board down again, he took back the spoon. “As soon as the biscuits are done, we’ll be ready to eat.”

“How long do the biscuits need to cook?”

“About fifteen minutes.” Patton shifted the pot so that it was on a slightly cooler part of the stovetop, still stirring the gravy. It looked quite thick now, especially with the chunks of meat in.

After a few minutes, Patton removed the gravy from the heat entirely and let it sit without stirring. “Do you want to find the others and tell them to wash up for dinner, or shall I?”

“I’ll do it,” Virgil said, and went off to find them.

Roman was practicing his swordwork in the yard. Virgil stood at a distance and hollered his name. Roman turned, smiling and breathing hard. “Hi, Virgil!”

“Patton says you have to wash your hands if you want food.”

“Oh. Okay.” Roman sheathed his sword, coming inside. He went to the kitchen, and Virgil wandered off through the house to find Logan. It didn’t take him long. Logan was holed up in the room with the bookshelves, his attention singularly focused on the book in his hand.

“Logan?” Virgil asked softly, standing at the doorway.

Logan didn’t respond.

“Logan,” Virgil said again, a little louder this time.

Logan looked up, and for a moment it was clear his mind was still far distant. But then he turned and saw Virgil. “Hello,” he said.

“Supper’s about ready,” Virgil said. “Patton says you have to wash up first.”

“Best do that, then,” Logan said with a smile, setting his book aside and getting up. Virgil followed him back to the kitchen, where they both washed their hands.

Patton got the tray of biscuits out of the hot oven, stacking them on a plate instead. “Virgil made the biscuits,” he told everyone.

“They look good, Virgil,” Logan complemented, handing plates and forks out.

“Yeah!” Roman agreed, grabbing one. He crumbled it onto his plate, ladled some gravy over top, and took that out to the living room.

Virgil glanced to the others to confirm that this was how they were supposed to eat the dish. Logan was already crumbling his own biscuit, and Patton nodded to the pile. “Go ahead,” he said.

Virgil took a biscuit, and, mimicking his friends, crumbled it onto his plate. Then he too ladled gravy over it and went to join Roman and Logan in the living room. Patton followed a moment later, and they all settled comfortably into the furniture.

Virgil tried a bite. “I like turkey a la king,” he decided aloud.

“Good,” Patton said with a grin. “We like it too.”

The other two nodded in agreement.

Virgil had three servings.


	3. Biscuit and Charcoal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil's humans are evidently terrible at assessing threats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place a few months after chapter 2, sometime during the summer.

Virgil was alone. This used to be the norm, but he had grown used to having his humans around, and now he was lonely without them. He didn’t even stay in the house; it felt strange to be the only living thing in there. The others had gone into town a few days ago to trade vegetables from Patton’s garden and meat Roman had hunted for other things they needed. Virgil had no desire to be among that many humans, especially so soon after the full moon, so he stayed behind. 

Finally, though, they returned. Virgil ran out of the trees in wolf form to greet them, jumping up to put his forepaws on Logan’s shoulders. In his excitement, he accidentally knocked the human sprawling. Virgil whimpered and lowered himself to the ground beside him, licking Logan’s face apologetically.

Logan awkwardly patted Virgil’s ruff, and Virgil pulled back so he could get up. “Good to see you too,” Logan said, sitting up and wiping his face with his arm.

“Hi Virgil!” Patton said cheerfully. Virgil turned to him, and Patton added quickly, “No kissies right now; I’ve got a delicate parcel.”

“Lucky Logan was just carrying the cloth,” Roman said with a laugh. He’d tensed on seeing a large wolf rush at them, even putting his hand on his sword briefly, but he’d relaxed again as soon as he recognized Virgil.

“Let us get everything in the house, and then we can greet you properly,” Logan said, so Virgil followed his humans into the house, bouncing happily around them. He stuck his nose into Roman’s side, curious about all the new scents that clung to him, and the swordsman jolted.

“Virgil!”

Inside, they unloaded their packs. Logan had several lengths of cloth of various colors and weights. Roman carried new dishes and tools, and Patton had a packet of spices that smelled very strange and interesting, a leather bundle containing what remained of a cooked rabbit Roman had almost certainly killed on their journey homeward, and a small lidded basket.

Patton sat on the couch and grinned at Virgil, holding the basket carefully on his lap. “You might wanna shift to see this,” he said in a near whisper. Virgil wondered why, but he did as Patton suggested and changed forms. Curiously, he sat on the couch next to Patton, watching as Patton lifted away the lid of the basket. Inside was something made of fur. Black and white and brown fur, though mostly black and white. Patton grinned, reaching into the basket. “Hold out your hands,” he said. Virgil did. Patton picked up the thing in the basket— wait, no, there were two, one all black and the other mostly white with bits of black and brown, and Patton picked up the latter— and set it in Virgil’s hands.

It was small, and warm, and as Virgil watched, it moved, opened two tiny eyes, and turned out to be an absolutely bitty kitten. For several seconds, Virgil and the kitten stared into each others’ eyes. Then the kitten mewed.

“You brought a cat home with you?” Virgil asked, still staring at it with surprise. 

“Two cats!” Patton answered happily, picking up the black bundle of fur. That was a kitten as well. “Our friend’s cat had kittens, and they needed a home. They’re already weaned.”

“Oh.” That didn’t fully answer _why_ Patton had brought the cats home with him, but this particular human definitely seemed to have a soft spot for dangerous furry strays, and that might be all the explanation Virgil was likely to get.

The kitten in Virgil’s hands mewled again, and this time her sister joined in.

“I think they’re hungry,” Virgil said, holding the little cat out toward Patton again. Instead of taking her, however, he opened the bundle of rabbit meat, handing Virgil a small piece. Patton took another piece and fed it to the black kitten. The calico in Virgil’s hand mewled demandingly, and he quickly gave her the scrap Patton had handed him.

It took several minutes and most of the meat to satisfy the kittens’ hunger. While Patton and Virgil fed them, the other two humans put the rest of their purchases away. Finally, the kittens were full, and Patton set the one he held back into the basket. Relieved, Virgil did the same with the calico. The kittens settled down on the cloth base of the basket and were soon asleep, nestled together again.

Patton cooed adoringly down at them. Then he set the basket down on the floor next to the couch and flopped into Virgil’s lap. “I missed you,” he said.

“I missed you too,” Virgil said, leaning over Patton to give him a kiss — a human kiss, not a wolf one — on the nose.

~~

When Virgil woke up on his couch the next morning, things were almost like they had been before the humans had left. He could hear Patton in the kitchen, undoubtedly making something delicious for breakfast.

But something was different. There was a weight, small but definitely present, resting on his chest. Virgil opened his eyes, looking at it. It was the little calico kitten, curled up and asleep. On top of him. Virgil frowned nervously and lay very still.

Several minutes later, Patton came into the living room, smiling when he saw Virgil awake. “Good morning!”

“Good morning, Patton,” Virgil answered softly. “I can’t get up. There is a cat sleeping on me.”

Patton’s grin widened. “Aww, yes there is!” he cooed. He did not try to help. Virgil understood this— of course Patton would not want to anger the feline either— but he was still a little disappointed. 

Patton left Virgil alone with the cat for a few minutes, going into the rest of the house. Virgil wondered how the kitten had managed to get from the basket all the way up to his couch to lie down on him. When Patton returned with the other humans in tow, the cat had not stirred. However, when Patton brought Virgil a plate of pancakes and venison, she woke and mewled at him. Virgil had to give her some of the meat from his plate to appease her, at which point she allowed him to move her to the couch and sit up. Once he had stopped moving, however, she immediately climbed into his lap and mewled again for some meat.

Twice more during the meal, the kitten demanded a piece of meat from Virgil, and he gave it to her. Patton, meanwhile, gave a portion of meat to the black kitten, who had remained in the basket and seemed much calmer than the calico.

After they had eaten, and Logan had taken Virgil’s dishes to the kitchen for him because he was still trapped by the kitten on his lap, said kitten began to press her forepaws rhythmicly into Virgil’s leg.

“Patton?” Virgil asked, keeping his eyes on the cat. Patton hummed inquisitively. “What is she doing?”

Patton gasped. “Making biscuits!”

Virgil grew alarmed. “She intends to eat my leg?” Had he not given her enough of his breakfast? 

“No, no,” Patton assured him, and Virgil calmed slightly. “She’s just getting comfy. But it looks like kneading dough for biscuits, doesn’t it?”

Sure enough, after kneading his leg for a few minutes, the kitten curled up and went back to sleep. Apparently Virgil was going to be stuck on the couch for a while longer.

~~

Over the next few days, it became clear that the calico kitten, dubbed “Biscuit” by Patton, had claimed Virgil as her own. Every night, the kittens were put to bed in their basket, but every morning without fail, Virgil woke to find a tiny ball of white, black, and brown fur on his chest. She trailed after him whenever he was in the house, and if he outpaced her, which he could easily do, as she was very tiny and he was not, she mewled for him to come back. To keep the peace, Virgil started to carry her around with him, and she quickly decided that his left shoulder was hers as well. This left his hands free, but also put her claws and teeth, though tiny, close enough to Virgil’s throat to make him nervous.

The other kitten was given the name Charcoal, or simply Coal for short, and she was indeed milder than her sister. She followed everyone around somewhat, but not as insistently as Biscuit, and did not climb into laps.

Although both kittens would accept food from any of the four packmates, Biscuit also demanded at each meal that Virgil share a portion from his plate with her. He did, of course, but only the meat, since cats were obligate carnivores.

Virgil wondered at first how the cats would react the first time they saw him in wolf form, and for a few weeks, he did not shift. But soon the full moon approached again, and Virgil began to grow restless in his human skin. He knew he couldn’t hold back a shift much longer.

Lying on the floor to avoid unnecessarily stressing his bones, Virgil allowed his form to change. In moments, he was a wolf again. There was about two seconds of silence before Virgil heard a confused mew.

He turned his head to see Biscuit staring at him. Virgil blinked slowly at the cat, and she toddled closer, sniffing at his face. After a few moments, she seemed satisfied that this was still Virgil, and she climbed up his side, kneaded his back for a few moments, and settled down again between his shoulder blades.

Virgil wasn’t sure what to do, but he knew better than to make Biscuit move. He lay his head on his forepaws, getting comfortable.

A few minutes later, Patton passed by. “Oh!” he called from the doorway. “You didn’t tell me that it was going to be a wolfy night. I’ll get the blankets.” With that, Patton disappeared again, but only for a few minutes. He soon reappeared with an armload of quilts and began to arrange them on the floor next to Virgil. It appeared to be a blanket nest day rather than a blanket fort day, because Patton didn’t drag any other furniture over to support the blankets, instead simply piling them in a big comfortable nest.

Finally, Patton finished, and Virgil, moving carefully so as not to dislodge Biscuit, climbed into the nest with him. Patton threw his arms around Virgil’s neck, and Virgil gently knocked him onto his back, laying down with his head on top of Patton’s chest and one foreleg across Patton’s stomach.

Patton giggled, running his fingers through Virgil’s fur. “Goodnight, Virgil,” he said. “I love you.”

Virgil licked Patton's face. _I love you too_.


End file.
